


points of sunlight

by writevale



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Ace Jon is curious about sex, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Blood Drinking, Canon Asexual Character, Fantasizing, Luckily someone has magic vampire powers to satisfy that curiosity, M/M, Martin Blackwood is an excellent husband, Minor WTGFs appearance, Non-Sexual Praise Kink, Vampire Martin Blackwood, married jonmartin, tea and toast is a love language i'll die on this hill, tipsy jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27880405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writevale/pseuds/writevale
Summary: Martin swallowed, 'I think - I think what we do is less common.'Jon frowned, letting his hand smooth down the soft line of Martin's jaw, 'What? Why?''Often people prefer to use, ah, sex?'
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Past Jon/Georgie
Comments: 38
Kudos: 267





	points of sunlight

'HELLO.' Jon slurred, far too loud for the cramped darkness of his living room. The handful of chips he had pinched from Daisy on the way home were doing something to combat his current blood alcohol level, but he wobbled clumsily as he bent down to untie his laces and let out a surprised shout as large hands gripped his waist to steady him. 'Bloody Hell, Martin!'

His husband's soft chuckle was accompanied by a gentle squeeze of the fingers around his middle. 'Usually you _know_ when I'm lurking.' Jon shook his head and pretended not to lean back against Martin's chest as he toed off his boots. When he was tipsy, the information provided to him by the Beholding became more . . . Abstract.

'I know that Mr Edwards from downstairs saw us at the Tesco Express last week and went down another aisle to avoid us.' Jon replied, proving a point to only himself. 'Oh.' He added, disappointed, as the fact sunk in. Martin kissed the crown of his head.

'There's tea and toast in the kitchen.' He murmured.

' _Martin_.' Jon whispered and was rewarded by another delighted laugh.

'Get inside, you.'

The Blackwood household's electricity bill was astonishingly low compared with the other residents of the building, owing to Martin's preternatural night vision and the long hours Jon spent at work.

'I'm going to turn the light on.' Jon warned and squinted over his shoulder to ensure Martin had dutifully closed his eyes. He placed his hand gently over Martin's face just to be sure and felt the muscles beneath his pale cheeks bunch into a smile. The bulb flickered to life to reveal a steaming cup of tea and a generous stack of buttery toast. Martin's dedication to cooking for him when he himself didn't eat still made a lump form in Jon's throat. He looked over his shoulder at the broad form of his lover with a shaky smile.

'Thank you.'

Martin's lips curled upwards and Jon permitted himself to be lifted up onto the countertop, content in the knowledge that he could play it off as being drunk if Martin teased him later. The vampire hovered in the gap between his legs and Jon couldn't think of a better situation to be in than to be holding Martin's hand with one hand and holding a perfect piece of toast with the other. He hummed contentedly, admiring the way Martin's hair shone like copper wiring in the light. A thought occurred as his gaze travelled downwards and he noticed that Martin was staring intently at the spot where the pulse of his carotid should just be visible.

'You're not hungry, are you?'

Martin snapped back to himself with a blink and pushed up his glasses quickly. 'No, Jon. Don't worry, I - we - at the weekend, remember?'

Jon hummed as he took another bite of toast. The back of Martin's hand was as smooth as polished marble as he ran his thumb over it. He always remembered when Martin fed. The feeling of bone-deep contentment, a warmth like Martin was suffusing him with sunlight, the certainty of knowing that nothing mattered beyond his own pulse inside Martin's lips. Martin would hold him for hours afterwards, cheeks rosy with Jon's blood, and stroke his hair and tell him how wonderfully he had done, how Martin needed him and loved him. He could feel it now, the _rightness_ of giving himself to Martin. The weight of mutual adoration behind the press of fangs.

Jon gasped, a throaty mixture of pleasure and realisation, as he realised that he could feel those sensations because Martin had dipped to kiss the healing bite on his neck, unable to resist releasing the heady mix of pheromones that sent molten relaxation dripping down the arch of Jon's spine.

'Sorry.' Martin mumbled, pulling away, but not before running his tongue over his handiwork in a firm stripe that made Jon's eyes roll back into his head. 'You know when you're full but you kind of still want a dessert?' He grinned sheepishly. Toast forgotten, Jon gestured at his neck but Martin shook his head with a smile.

'I'm not drunk.' Jon argued. For someone who'd spent the best part of a decade with the same eager thrall, Martin was still very finicky about boring things like _informed consent_. Case lost before it was really opened, Jon smiled lopsidedly, 'When was the last time you ate a dessert?'

'Oh, don't be an arse.' Martin rolled his own eyes and stepped back out of reach of temptation. 'Tell me about your evening.'

Jon took a sip of tea. 'Well, it was Daisy and I mainly. We went to The Royal Oak -'

'Creatures of habit.' Martin teased.

'Well -' Jon took another sip, 'Well, yes. Fine. And then Melanie and Georgie happened to be there waiting for some of their friends so we had a drink together.' Jon watched with a kind of guilty thrill as the tips of Martin's fangs made a brief appearance against the pink swell of his bottom lip. Martin would insist that it was a natural reaction to the knowledge that another vampire had been near his thrall. Jon knew it had nothing to do with Melanie.

'That's nice.' Martin said. There was something truly intimate in knowing that it was Jon's own blood he could see when Martin blushed. 'Are they -? You know?' Jon blinked. ' _Dating,_ Jon. Are they dating?'

'Oh! Yes. Actually - ah, there was something I wanted to -' Jon stared at the thick knit of Martin's jumper instead of meeting the dark green of his eyes. 'I tried to _know_ it, but . . . It wasn't very clear and I - I don't know.'

'Jon?' Martin stepped closer to rest a hand on his knee, head bowed to try and meet Jon's eyes.

'Something Melanie said. She said she missed fighting people for their blood but her new way of hunting was much more fun.' Martin's face went carefully blank.

'Ri-ight?'

'Well, what did she mean? Is there a difference between bleeding a stranger and a thrall?'

Martin's fingers tapped a uncertain beat on Jon's thigh for a second before he replied. 'Um.'

'Martin?'

'No. I mean, _yes_ , obviously, it's very different. But . . . Melanie . . . Probably just doesn't want to hurt Georgie.' Jon stared at him blankly and Martin sighed. 'You know - you know when I feed, you feel . . . Relaxed? Content to let me do it.'

'Very.'

'Well, _some_ people make their . . .' His face bunched up as he struggled to find a word that didn't contribute to the false monster-victim dichotomy.

'People?'

'People.' Martin sighed, 'Melanie used to make the people she fed from want to fight her and want to be bitten when they lost.' Jon's nose wrinkled despite himself as he _understood_. 'I know.' Martin agreed. 'I - She - She's probably using a different method of hunting with Georgie.'

'Like . . . What we do?'

'Maybe.' Martin was blushing fiercely now, freckles floating on a pink sea of skin. Jon pressed the back of his hand to his cheeks to feel the warmth. Martin swallowed, 'I think - I think what we do is less common.'

Jon frowned, letting his hand smooth down the soft line of Martin's jaw, 'What? Why?'

'Often people prefer to use, ah, sex?'

Jon recalled the way Georgie had glanced at him quickly before giggling at her new girlfriend's joke. She was checking whether he got it. He hadn't.

'Oh.'

'Yeah.'

'Huh.' Jon huffed. He picked up another piece of toast and chewed it thoughtfully. He'd always assumed that a vampire's particular style of hunting was an intrinsic reflection of their human self or the patron they were most closely aligned to. If they could change their hunting style at will . . .

Jon froze. The half-eaten toast hung limply, half-way to his mouth.

****

Martin ran a hand from the crown of Jon's head to the nape of his neck and held him there, carding his fingers between the salt and pepper strands of Jon's hair. It was a soothing gesture, one that their many years of partnership had turned into a kind of symbiotic muscle memory. Jon suspected that holding him still like this made something inside of Martin _thrum_. It felt like his own blood was singing in response.

He watched Martin's tongue peek out between the curve of his growing fangs to wet his lips. The air in their bedroom was growing thick with the invisible lure of Martin's pheromones, and with each slow inhalation, Jon wanted nothing more than to press the throbbing pulse point of his neck against his husband's lips. The contented feeling of Martin's adoration already hung heavy in the top of his chest. Jon knew that, the minute those sharp teeth broke skin, it would explode upwards into his head, a tide that would break against the insides of his skull and drip back down into his body in waves of bone-deep contentedness.

At least, that was what it had always been like before.

Martin's dilated pupils stretched his irises into thin haloes, each the forest green of a predatory cat's eyes. In the weak sunlight of a London afternoon, which snuck in through the gaps in the blinds, Jon saw his own face reflected. Eyes wide. Lips just parted. Caught.

Martin smiled in a way that was clearly meant to be reassuring, but doing so revealed the secret behind his lips and the flash of pearly enamel sent a shiver running down Jon's spine.

'I don't know if this is going to work.' Martin whispered, the words echoing inside Jon's head as though they'd come from his own brain. Martin didn't strictly need to speak to communicate but he seemed to think that verbalising through his larynx instead of Jon's own neurones made it easier for Jon to communicate back. Jon inhaled. The fresh hit of pheromones sent the heavy feeling in his chest sinking deep into the pit of his stomach, a growling, persistent ache that he hadn't experienced since the height of his teens. He pulled against the clutch of Martin's hand in his hair, willing his neck closer to the vampire's mouth.

'It's going to work.' The hoarseness of his voice made Martin chuckle but his eyes became serious as he used his other hand to lift up Jon's chin with a single finger.

'You must tell me to stop if you don't like it.' Martin insisted. _Remember the boundaries we set,_ his soft tenor spoke inside Jon's head. That was almost unfair. Thralls were particularly susceptible to commands in the moments before feeding. Trust Martin to only use that power for Jon's own benefit. ' _Jon_.'

'Yes, yes. Alright.'

_Good._ Jon let out a shaky breath at the praise and frowned as Martin chuckled again. The finger which had been holding his chin in place trailed a lazy path down his neck and through the dark hair on his bare chest, coming to rest on the spot where his heartbeat could be felt most prominently as it tried to thunder its way through Jon's ribcage.

'Slow your breathing.' Martin said, fully extended fangs almost catching on the plump swell of his bottom lip. Jon inhaled deeply, vaguely aware than Martin was pulling him upwards so he was straddling his lap, and let out a short gasp as the breath only fanned the burgeoning flames in his groin. 'Slow your breathing.' Martin repeated, now close enough for Jon to feel the vibrations in his chest as he spoke. Jon breathed. It was odd, this sudden awakening in his body. An almost-pleasure, almost-discomfort. A need.

Martin's fingers scratched his scalp as he twisted his neck to the side to reveal the smooth triangle of skin that covered the rabbit-hearted race of his pulse. 'Breathe.'

Jon exhaled.

_Good, so good for me._

'Martin _._ ' He whined. He could feel every drag of the fabric of his boxers against the newly swollen organ between his legs as Martin shifted to get comfortable, it made him want to rock his hips forwards, until the bulge of it could slide against the curve of Martin's stomach. ' _Martin_.' Instead, he wrapped his arms around Martin's shoulders, gripping him tight in the hope he could pull that mouth closer to his neck. A noise left him, something between a moan and a grunt, as an oddly velvety tongue licked a long stripe up the side of his neck.

'Say it.'

Jon's skin was starting to heat where Martin's saliva was drying. He imagined the capillaries engorging, reaching to the surface of his skin like the bloodstained relics of a Roman settlement waiting to be discovered beneath the Earth. _Say it_ , Martin's hand fisted tighter in his hair and Jon groaned. The redirection of blood between his neck and cock was making decision-making difficult. He wanted. All he knew was that.

'Please.' He whispered.

Jon's mouth dropped open in a silent scream as the twin pin-points of Martin's fangs sunk deep into the flesh of his neck. The heavy, molten feeling in his groin seized into something hot and electric, spasms of pleasure that left him clenching down hard on nothing and bucking forwards for a momentary second of relief as his erection brushed against Martin's steadily warming body.

'Good Lord.' His words were muffled by Martin's hair as he buried his face in the thick, coppery tufts. Martin's voice rang in his head, an endless litany of praise and affection. Jon was loved. Jon was beautiful. Jon was so good. _So, so good._

But the things the heady mix of teeth and pheromones were making him imagine didn't feel beautiful at all. Martin, face twisted and fangs hidden as he took Jon inside his mouth and hollowed out his cheeks. Martin, smirking in contempt as Jon fell apart at the snap of his hips. Martin, legs splayed, thighs shaking as Jon fucked him open -

Jon felt something cold tear at his chest, almost buried in the confused daze of his arousal. That was a boundary. Martin didn't want - Martin didn't do _that_. And neither did Jon.

His husband hummed encouragingly, oblivious to the brewing panic inside his thrall. Jon's hips had a will of their own, recklessly driving him towards the inevitability of orgasm even as guilt swelled in his throat. The pressure between his legs was building, faster and faster, as Martin drank happily from his neck. The air was thick with invisible organic signals that were seizing at his control. Jon felt as though he were running towards the edge of a cliff, guided by the encouraging coos of praise inside his head but knowing exactly what would happen if he lost control and fell.

It felt like death.

'M'tin.' He mumbled woozily. Then, with more force, 'Mar -' The ache inside him swelled, vast and terrible in its enormity. Jon's fingers felt numb where they gripped at Martin's T-shirt. 'Stop, Martin. Stop!'

He whimpered as Martin pulled away, mouth an indecent shade of crimson. With it, came a sense of relief, as though he'd been pulled back from the brink of delirium. Martin snatched his glasses from the bedside table and Jon was vaguely aware of the look of horror on his face as he took in the expression on Jon's. He was panting, he realised, dizzy. Arms were tightening around his waist and under his thighs. He slumped bonelessly in Martin’s arms as his husband lifted him off their bed and out into the hallway, shutting the bedroom door with a hasty kick.

Out here, the cloying taste of what Jon assumed must be sex grew less potent.

‘It’s okay, it’s okay.’ Martin soothed between gentle swipes at Jon’s neck, voice pitched high enough to betray his own fear. He deposited them both onto the sofa and clutched Jon close. The new absence of Martin’s pheromones was almost worse than the battering his senses had been subject to before. Jon felt cored out. Empty. He shuddered and Martin hugged him tighter. ‘Jon?’ He felt Martin shift to try and catch his eyes. ‘Do you want me to -?' Martin seemed to struggle to find the right words and, instead, filled Jon’s head with the memory of how it felt to be soothed into thraldom.

Jon nodded quickly, desperate for something else to fill the space where the insatiable, aching heat had been mere moments before. He could feel himself going soft against Martin's thigh and took a deep breath, somewhere between relief and disappointment.

'I'm sor-'

_No._ Martin's voice in his head insisted abruptly. 'Please don't be.' Martin ran a hand down the length of his spine, the way one might with a pet cat as it stretched out on their chest. 'I think -' Martin coughed, cheeks rosy with the fresh feed Jon had gifted him. 'I didn't know whether it would work so I think I might have come on a bit . . . Strong.'

Jon almost wanted to laugh. Then he looked up at the bitter apology in Martin's eyes and couldn't help but chuckle. Perhaps it was the psychoactive chemicals filling his nose and lungs. Perhaps it was the unnecessary but welcome confirmation that there was no situation Martin wouldn't pull them out of if Jon asked. Perhaps it was the blood loss. Perhaps

'I'm okay, Martin. I'm - I love you.' Jon mouthed against a clean patch of skin on Martin's neck. The tang of iron mixed with the sudden scent of Martin's surprised delight made him feel as though he had been very good indeed.

'Oh!' Martin bit his own lip with deceptively human teeth. ' _Jon_.'

Jon fought back his own blush at the sudden enumeration of Martin's most cherished things about him inside his head. It didn't work, so he buried his face into the folds of Martin's T-shirt to better hide it. He felt . . . Good. Not the bone-deep emotional satiation he usually experienced after a feed but certainly better than he was. Face concealed, he smirked against Martin's chest. He could definitely swing another hour of cuddles if he played his cards right. 

'Safe to say . . .' He mumbled after a few minutes of gentle fingers against his scalp.

'Hm?'

'I don't think it's for me.'

'Well - ' Martin pushed his glasses up his nose and Jon snorted.

'I know, I know. You hate to say I told you so.'

'No!' Martin objected but a guilty shadow passed over his face. ' _Maybe_. But . . .' He stroked his fingers through the lengths of Jon's hair thoughtfully. 'I like trying new things with you. And if you don't like it, that's fine. Though I might be a bit more gentle next time - If! If there is a next time. We could talk about it? Later. When you're a bit more . . .' Jon hummed in response. Mostly at the divine tugging on his scalp.

'Great. We can trying fighting next time.' He drawled sarcastically, too relaxed to pretend that he'd put up much of a good fight.

'That's a hard pass.' Martin's fingers tapped at his chin, 'Let me have a little look at your neck.'

'Oh, yeah.' Jon grumbled as he pushed himself up off Martin's chest to reveal the already healing bite. 'Where have I heard that one before?'

'Oh, _shush_.'

'Does that work on all the boys or just me?' Jon smirked at Martin's eye-roll and tried not to flinch as Martin delicately prodded the edges of his wound. 'Are you okay? Not still hungry?'

Martin started to shake his head but the glint of protruding fangs against his bottom lip begged to differ. He wet his lips and forced his gaze away from Jon's neck to his eyes. That feeling was in Jon's chest again, a perfect sphere of sunlight begging to be popped by the sharp points of Martin's teeth. It was a want he understood.

Martin smiled, beautiful and innocent. 'I could go for dessert.'

**Author's Note:**

> [projects onto jon] [projects onto martin] [projects onto them both] 
> 
> unlike martin, I don't bite. please let me know what you thought in the comments and come be friends!! [@writevale](https://writevale.tumblr.com/)


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